Chapter Text
You stood outside Bill Dickey’s door, your knuckles hovering midair as if you could somehow knock without committing to it. You hated being here. You hated him. But somehow, Bill Dickey — arrogant, sarcastic, insufferable Bill Dickey — was still one of the few people who’d talk to you without wishing death upon you.
The first knock echoed into the night. No answer. Typical Bill. He was probably inside, grinning at the thought of you squirming, deciding whether to leave. You pictured him counting down in his head, smugly wondering if you’d bother to knock again.
You raised your fist for a second try but the door swung open just before you could. Bill leaned against the frame, not even pretending to look surprised.
“Oh, great. It’s you.” His voice cut clean through the quiet street like the rip of cheap paper. “What could you possibly want?”
You crossed your arms, glaring, though you could feel the heat rising in your face. “Nice to see you too, Bill.”
His eyes lingered a little too long on yours before he rolled them. “Spare me the Hallmark moment. You coming in, or are you gonna stand there and sulk all night?”
You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to go in but because every time you did, you swore you’d never come back. He made everything a game. He made you a game. And yet…
Your chest tightened, irritated at yourself. The worst part wasn’t that he annoyed you. The worst part was that, somewhere under all that posturing and smugness, you were starting to like it.
“Fine,” you muttered, brushing past him, close enough to catch the faintest whiff of cologne, ‘did he finally start showering?’ you ask yourself. He didn’t move out of the way right away, and your shoulder brushed his chest.
“Careful,” Bill said, smirking. “People might think you actually like hanging out with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Too late. He was already grinning as he shut the door behind you.